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soho-angel.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dizzy_land2008-05-02 02:26 am
soho-angel.livejournal.com) wrote in dizzy_land2008-05-02 02:26 am
Entry tags:
- aziraphale,
- kira,
- rp
Ethereal Swashbuckling FTW! (Closed RP)
((Backdated to the day after Setsuna's party))
Aziraphale approached the doors of the auditorium lugging a long, heavy bundle carefully wrapped in cloth, hoping Kira remembered their appointment.
They hadn't actually agreed on a venue for this, but he was willing to do it anywhere except Club 33. Well, anywhere reasonably private. It was going to be challenging enough to not embarrass himself after all these years out of practice without Crowley loitering about, providing a running narration of past incidents better left un-dredged-up.
"Ha, nice one. Remember the time in Babylon when you tried that maneuver and wound up in the drink with your sword stuck in the mud?" "Honestly, angel, I thought you'd have learned not to drop your guard like that after the way it got you clocked back in Sodom..."
It wasn't that he was particularly inept with a sword. One didn't get appointed Guardian of the Eastern Gate without knowing which end of the thing went in the other bloke, after all. It was just that the inevitable mishap here and there could really add up over the course of several thousand years, and Crowley had an excellent memory for such things.
The theater was quite a large place, so he knocked loudly. Come to think of it, in spite of having no past to speak of with the young man, he rather hoped Katou wouldn't be in attendance either. Hecklers just weren't much fun to deal with when one was waving a dangerously sharp piece of metal around, particularly if one was trying not to skewer one's opponent.
Aziraphale approached the doors of the auditorium lugging a long, heavy bundle carefully wrapped in cloth, hoping Kira remembered their appointment.
They hadn't actually agreed on a venue for this, but he was willing to do it anywhere except Club 33. Well, anywhere reasonably private. It was going to be challenging enough to not embarrass himself after all these years out of practice without Crowley loitering about, providing a running narration of past incidents better left un-dredged-up.
"Ha, nice one. Remember the time in Babylon when you tried that maneuver and wound up in the drink with your sword stuck in the mud?" "Honestly, angel, I thought you'd have learned not to drop your guard like that after the way it got you clocked back in Sodom..."
It wasn't that he was particularly inept with a sword. One didn't get appointed Guardian of the Eastern Gate without knowing which end of the thing went in the other bloke, after all. It was just that the inevitable mishap here and there could really add up over the course of several thousand years, and Crowley had an excellent memory for such things.
The theater was quite a large place, so he knocked loudly. Come to think of it, in spite of having no past to speak of with the young man, he rather hoped Katou wouldn't be in attendance either. Hecklers just weren't much fun to deal with when one was waving a dangerously sharp piece of metal around, particularly if one was trying not to skewer one's opponent.
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He took a couple of experimental swings, aware that he cut a rather unlikely figure--a slightly pudgy, approaching-middle-aged gentleman in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves, brandishing such a formidable weapon of war. For all that, though, there was nothing the least bit clumsy about the way he handled it. A bit slower than he had once been, perhaps. But its weight felt familiar and reassuring in his hands.
"I believe I am," he said, saluting Kira formally with the blade and taking up a guarded stance.
This was really going to be fairly dangerous; edged weapons, no protective gear...but even after numerous discorporations on the point of such a blade, he'd never taken to the modern, admittedly more civilized notion of fencing. It felt like cheating, somehow.
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This was going to be fun.
He spun his blade suddenly, throwing them out of the lock, and reversed the stroke, pressing his attack in earnest. He could already see that Kira was very good at this. Quite possibly better than Crowley, which was a little unexpected. A bit scary, even, considering that Kira had considerably less reason to actively avoid discorporating him than Crowley did, but that was part of the appeal.
After a few fairly pedestrian exchanges, he tried a complicated maneuver involving several feints that was designed to slide in under his opponent's guard and disable his primary sword arm. Michael had made him practice it over and over again after the whole debacle at Sodom, and it had taken him weeks to get it right. He used it now as a test of both his own muscle memory and Kira's defensive abilities; he was pretty sure the demon would be able to counter it, but wanted to see how hard he'd have to work to do so.
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"First blood," he observed, a little breathlessly. Their faces were scant inches apart, and what he saw flickering in Kira's eyes was mildly disturbing. Or maybe it wasn't so much Kira as his own memories. The ones involving Crowley weren't so bad, but there were the others, of countless human bloodbaths he'd witnessed, those chaotic melees in which he'd been forced to pick up a sword to defend himself (always, always to defend;) and further back but still all too vivid, the Rebellion and the Fall that had stained the Silver City crimson.
He shoved Kira off and began to circle warily, testing his defenses here and there--trying to keep things interesting without letting them get out of hand. To his annoyance, his body was already feeling the strain of this unaccustomed exertion. Though tougher than it looked, it did have its limitations and he hadn't been taking particularly good care of it lately. He drew on his inner reserves of energy to compensate, and his halo welled up dimly around him, as he had no attention to spare for damping it down.
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Aziraphale had noticed that he always seemed to be the one who backed off and put distance between them, so this time, he advanced suddenly with a flurry of rapid cuts and stood his ground, forcing Kira to fight him at close range. It was more difficult, he'd always found, to battle someone when you were looking directly into their face, and not just because of the way it restricted one's range of movement.
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Aziraphale's eyes flickered briefly after Kira's, and he laughed softly. "Well, perhaps. But not like this. I'd break my neck for certain. Half a moment..."
He lowered his sword and backpedaled a few paces, keeping an eye on his opponent as he shrugged out of his human form. Shining white wings blossomed from his back, and Kira was suddenly facing a slimmer, blonder, ageless figure whose resemblance to Ezra Fell lay mostly in his kindly blue eyes (and even those seemed much brighter and more penetrating, without the unnecessary spectacles to mask them.)
He rolled his shoulders and stretched his wings, shaking off the stiffness of long confinement. "There, that's much more the thing. Now. You were saying?"
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Aziraphale laughed and mimicked Kira's maneuver. Even in this form it took him a moment to find his balance, but the wings (and a certain ability to bend, if not ignore, the laws of physics) helped him compensate. He didn't heal automatically, but in this state, he was only semi-corporeal and could close any ordinary wound with an instant's thought. All things considered, they should still be pretty evenly matched.
And then he leaped at Kira, and the contest began in earnest.
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"We're Adversaries," he continued conversationally as their duel took them skittering precariously back and forth along the seat-backs. "Not quite the same thing, you know?...and I doubt most Musketeers could have managed with weapons like these..." Kira came close to disarming him with a very clever double feint, and to avoid it, he was forced into a slightly flailing dismount, coming down hard one or two seats over in the next row forward. "Their reputation is somewhat exaggerated. ...Ow."
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